


Late For Lunch

by Milla_GSD



Series: Missed Lunch Date [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, Depressed Crowley (Good Omens), Depression, Disabled Crowley (Good Omens), M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, So much angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-18
Updated: 2019-09-18
Packaged: 2020-10-21 02:44:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20686229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Milla_GSD/pseuds/Milla_GSD
Summary: Crowley and Aziraphale have a lunch date and Crowley is running late. He just can't seem to pull himself off of his couch, but he knows he has to get up, has to be there for his angel... He just can't seem to do it.Update: Aziraphale's POV has been started and added as a series continuation to this!





	Late For Lunch

**Author's Note:**

> Am I projecting on Crowley? Possibly. 
> 
> Am I at all sorry? Not really.

Crowley’s late for lunch.

At least he thinks he is. He isn’t really sure what time it is. There’s just a nagging feeling that he’s late, that he was supposed to be somewhere by now, but he can’t really bring himself to actually check. That would mean moving, and right now, he doesn’t have it in him to do that.

He remembered being excited about lunch when the idea was first presented to him. He’s always excited about anything that brings a smile to his angel’s face, but somewhere along the way, he had ended up on the couch. He keeps telling himself he needs to get up, keeps reminding himself that there’s a smile waiting for him if he does, all he needs to do is just...stand up.

That’s what he keeps telling himself anyways, that he just needs to stand up, needs to pull himself together and get up off his ass. But the longer Crowley lays here, facing the back of the couch with his legs curled up as best as they can be with one arm under his head, he just can’t seem to find the energy to do what he’s screaming at himself to do. He’s going to be late, and his angel is going to be sad, and....

Crowley just lays there, not really sure how much time is passing, not really sure of anything anymore. His own thoughts press against him, reminding him over and over that he needs to _move_ but his body refuses to listen. Somewhere along the way, he starts to drift off, slipping into that quite sleep space he usually loves so dearly. It never lasts for long though when his eyes do start to close. Every noise startles him awake again, his eyes peeling open to continue staring at the cream colored fabric in front of him. A car honking outside of his building, a door slamming on the room above him, footsteps walking past his apartment... It all jolts him out of his stupor long enough to wake him back up again and Crowley finds himself stuck in a weird place, floating along as he continues to berate himself.

_You’re worrying that angel, you know that right?_

Crowley hears himself sigh, the sound miles away. _Of course. Just have to stand up, can apologize once I stand up._

He doesn’t stand up, only going back to that weird space where he isn’t quite sure if he’s asleep or not.

_He’s going to come looking for you eventually and will just find you laying here, ditching him for doing absolutely nothing instead._

Crowley blinks, snake eyes bringing the couch back into focus for a moment. _It’ll be good for him maybe. He might stop trying to hang around me, might actually be able to get away from his adversary for a bit._

_You know that isn’t how he really feels about you_, another voice whispers in his mind and Crowley only closes his eyes again when he hears it. He’s too far gone to think about anything good or positive, too far outside of himself to think that he’s any sort of good.

Time continues to pass for him at a strange pace, only marked by the sounds that keep him from sleeping for long and by the thoughts that float around him. He’s still aware he’s late for lunch, but at this point, he isn’t sure just how late he really is, but he’s convinced he’s at least a day late. Minimum anyways.

He’s just drifted off again, pulled under for another short slumber even while his thoughts circle him even in sleep, when he hears a new sound that pulls him awake instantly. It takes him a moment to believe his own ears, but he hears the noise again and blinks slowly. There’s a faint sound of knocking coming from the direction of his front door.

He doesn’t react to it, still can’t bring himself to move from the couch. _It’s probably nothing. People selling something, missionaries, whatever. Doesn’t really need my attention._

_Yes, but you would know that for true if you just pulled yourself off of this couch!_

Crowley closes his eyes again, the sight of the couch fading from his view as the knocking stops and he prepares himself to just float along again for however long. A new noise reaches him, pulling him away from sleep once more before he even has a chance to figure out if he is actually asleep or not.

“Crowley?”

_That’s me..._ A dim part of him tells him _you should probably answer whoever it is_

“Crowley, are you ok?”

_Not really sure how to answer that..._ And he isn’t, truth be told. He’s been so trapped in his own mind for so long at this point, he doesn’t really know how to get out to figure out if he’s ok or not. _Why bother, so much easier at this point to just stay here..._

“My dear, how long have you been here? Is this why you missed lunch?”

_Oh..._

Crowley knows he should answer, should apologize, _should just fucking move already!_ but he still can’t bring himself to even roll over to look at the angel he knows is standing over him now. He can feel all of the emotions radiating from Aziraphale, but it still isn’t enough to get a reaction out of him. As he hears the angel move behind him, standing ever so close to him now, his eyes slip shut once more, blocking out the world around him.

Just as he’s about to fall asleep again, or at least what he’s considering sleep at this point, he feels something press against him. There’s something sliding against him, and before he can really question what’s happening, he’s been covered from shoulder to toe in a blanket that definitely doesn’t belong to him. There’s a hand pressed against his shoulder and a sigh behind him that tears at his heart. The hand moves and Crowley senses it coming towards his face. Distantly, he remembers he’s been wearing his glasses this whole time, and he’s suddenly afraid to lose them even if he hasn’t really remembered they were there at all. With a thought, he reminds them that they are to stay on his face and can only be removed by himself.

Aziraphale’s hand hovers over the arm of his glasses, fingers almost but not quite touching the cold metal frames, before pulling away without even trying to take them off. “I hope you come back to me soon,” he hears his angel say before the sound of retreating footsteps reaches him.

_See, you’ve chased him off again._

Crowley slips away before he can answer himself, before he can give himself any kind of excuse as to why it’s a good thing his angel has left him here once again. It’s the best he’s slept since laying down, even if he still doesn’t know how much time passes before his eyes open again. A noise from somewhere in his apartment brings him back out of his strange sleep state, but he keeps his eyes closed this time, knowing it’s the angel once again.

_He’s come back for me..._ Crowley finds himself thinking before he can push the thought away.

Footsteps move in his direction and Crowley finds his breath catching for the quickest of seconds before it evens back out again._ He’s just doing that thing where you’re nice and check up on friends that disappear. It doesn’t mean anything. Doesn’t mean he really cares._

_Doesn’t even like me, told me so himself that day._ Crowley listens as Aziraphale makes his way back to the living room and he feels a hand land on him once again. He’s still covered in the blanket, so it’s just a weird pressure he feels, but it’s there. He wonders if the angel will try to take his glasses off again, even thinks about letting him this time, but the hand only moves to the nape of his neck instead. Fingers hesitantly play with his hair, only for a moment, before sliding away again.

“Your hair is starting to get long, dear,” Aziraphale tells him. Crowley only wonders how long is long, how much time has passed for his hair to start growing of its own volition again. “There’s a new place that opened up right down from the bookshop. I’ve heard they have amazing coffee, but I haven’t been able to bring myself to try them.”

Aziraphale is rambling at this point,_ he’s only doing it for you, doing it to fill up the void you’re leaving behind by staying on this couch._

_You’re keeping him from trying new places now. They could have amazing food there and yet, he’s waiting for you._

Crowley blinks, eyes adjusting slowly to the dim amount of light that surrounds him. A stretch of time must have passed again, because try as he might, he can’t sense the angel in his place anymore, even though the last thing he remembers is being talked to. Time is well and truly fucked for him at this point, so he isn’t really surprised at this point. The blanket still lays draped across him and Crowley finds himself wishing it wasn’t.

_Just means Aziraphale has been here, wasting time on me again. Wasting time caring about me when he should be doing something else with his time._

With a small thought, the blanket slides off of him, landing in a pile on the floor. His feet are still covered though, and Crowley debates wishing it completely gone, but just can’t seem to do it. _Because you want the angel to care about you, want to know that someone has noticed you’ve disappeared._

Time slides by, cars still honk, doors still slam, and Crowley’s form shivers now that the blanket is gone, but he does nothing to make it reappear over him. When Aziraphale shows up again, Crowley flinches internally at the huff he hears. “Honestly....” The blanket drapes back over him, this time bunched around his waist, pulled no higher up and Crowley wonders why that is. “You have to stay covered if you aren’t going to warm this place up while I’m not here,” Aziraphale says quietly and Crowley hears so much more behind those words.

_Don’t understand why I would warm it up in here. It’s still summer, isn’t it...no point heating this place up..._

“It’s halfway through winter, you know,” the angel whispers out, interrupting Crowley’s thoughts, and at his words, Crowley wants so badly to sleep again.

_Months._

_You’ve been here months._

_Worrying your angel, making him feel this pain and sadness._

_What is wrong with you, GET UP_

“Please dear, please...” Aziraphale’s words drop off again, but Crowley is already falling away again, already sliding back into that strange state where he can’t really hear his angel’s words.

_You just can’t face what you’re doing to him, you fucking coward_

_You’re right, I can’t_, Crowley tells himself as he slips away, floating along as time passes around him.

He surfaces occasionally. Sometimes, his place is quiet and still, the only noises coming from the outside world around his apartment, lulling him to sleep once more. Other times, he wakes to the sounds of Aziraphale putting around his place. The sounds of plants being watered, of a fire crackling softly near by, of the angel sitting in a chair talking about nothing reaching him, keeping him tethered for a little while. Aziraphale does his best to keep him updated, he notices at one point, but without really knowing the full context of any conversation the angel tries to have with him, Crowley doesn’t really latch on to anything long enough to bring himself back out of whatever cycle he is trapped in.

_You’re breaking him, ripping him apart, you know that right?_

Aziraphale’s latest visit had ended in tears, from both the angel and the demon. Crowley’s fell silently down his face, creating streams over the bridge of his nose as they raced to create a spot on the couch beneath him. Aziraphale’s tears broke out of shaking lips, heaving breaths, soft sobs, ripping Crowley apart with every passing second and still _you just can’t do it can you? can’t face whatever is behind you, can’t pull yourself out of your own head long enough to think about someone el-_

_All I’ve been doing is thinking about someone else._

_I was late to lunch..._

Crowley is pulled under once more, the sounds of his angel breaking him to pieces as he gives in once more. He’s finally realized he isn’t sliding into sleep, hasn’t been choosing this endless nightmare, not for a long time now at least. Whenever he tries to fight it off, tries to will himself off of this couch he’s burning as soon as he gets a chance, it’s liked he’s pulled under once more. Black, inky tendrils wrapping around him, whispering at him, tugging him back to that strange sleep state that he’s coming to loathe. He wants so badly to be able to fight back against them, but he’s so tired of fighting his own thoughts at this point, he just doesn’t have it in him anymore, doesn’t have the ability to fight against this tendrils too.

So time passes.

The angel keeps coming, keeps checking on Crowley, continues to make sure he’s warm and taken care of as winter tears its way through London. _Why even bother coming back at this point. He’s never going to forgive you, never going to look at you the same after this._

Plants are watered.

_He’s ruining them, spoiling them, they’ll never fear you, not after how careful he’s been._

Crowley’s hair continues to grow, carefully brushed by his angel.

_He cares...he must...why else would he be doing this....all of this...._

Crowley’s own thoughts war against each other, part of him telling him so many things he wants so badly to believe aren’t true. As time continues to move around him though, it gets harder and harder to fight back, grows more difficult to figure out what he really feels and believes. He spends more time asleep, he’s sure of it. The noises outside of his apartment no longer wake him, car horns and slamming doors fading from his focus. Aziraphale’s noses still manage to wake him though, even if it takes longer each time.

_You could just roll over._

_Don’t have to get up, could just move even the smallest of bits to let him know you’re still here_

And Crowley finds he wants to do badly, wants to be able to move something to let his angel know he is still there, still listening, hasn’t disappeared completely. Try as he might though, he can’t. Can’t break away from the darkness that surrounds him, can’t power his way through the heaviness anymore. He can’t even manage a small thought to move his glasses finally, thinking that if he could just do that, he could at least let Aziraphale know in a small way that he’s trying.

_Please...I just want to go back to him._

_I don’t deserve him. I never have. He said it himself so long ago now, we aren’t even friends. This isn’t going to change that._

_But he cares about me, I know he does._

“Oh, Crowley...” Aziraphale sighs from behind him. Hands have stilled in his hair and Crowley realizes he’s been brushing his hair again. It’s getting harder to return to his angel. Getting so much harder to pull himself awake to just get even the tiniest hint of sound from Aziraphale.

“I need... I....” Aziraphale’s voice breaks slightly. “P-please my love...”

Crowley’s heart breaks, shattering over and over. _He said..._

_It means nothing...._

_Too fast, not enough, not friends don’t even know him just enemies not worthy of beingforgivenwhywouldyou-_

“Whatever I-I did to push y-you away, Crowley I-I....” Aziraphale’s voice breaks through Crowley’s spiral. “You... I n-never told you and I-I should have all these years... You... mean the w-world to me Crowley.... I-I... P-please..c-come....”

The rest of the angel’s words drop off, replaced by sobs that tear through his entire being and Crowley finds himself breaking at the sounds. He needs me

_he doesn’t_

_he does just listen to that_

_he’s only doing that because of you_

_he needs..._

Crowley’s spiral is stopped once again as his angel presses against him, draping an arm over him as he buries his face against the blanket that’s still covering Crowley. He can feels the man’s form shaking from the tears that are still being pulled from him and Crowley wants so badly to move, to reach out for him, to do something to let him know he’s listening. As he fights for this, fights for something to comfort his angel, he’s being pulled back under again and he knows he needs to do something.

It takes everything he has, but he finds a way to think ever so gently, his glasses finally banished somewhere away from where he lays on the couch. His eyes are already closed, lids so heavy, fighting his every attempt to keep them open. He knows the angel hasn’t noticed, probably won’t until he finds a way to stop crying, but Crowley knows he will eventually, will see that Crowley is trying. With one last burst of energy, Crowley forces one last little miracle out of him, needing to do more to let Aziraphale know he is listening....

“...angel...”

He has just enough time to realize that Aziraphale’s sobs have stopped for a fraction of a second at the sound of his broken voice before he is completely taken away again, mind torn apart by the swirling thoughts waiting for him in his sleep.

His sleep is plagued by nightmares now. It’s no longer just his own thoughts that haunt him. Memories swirl around him now as well, reminding him of all of the pain from his past. From flood waters that seem to reach him no matter how high he flies, to teeth biting into him as he does what he needs to do in Rome, does whatever he has to in order to get the job done.

The nightmares pull him even further down, hardly ever letting him surface again. Time flies past him, crawls around him, rips at him every chance it gets and if Crowley wasn’t already completely lost to it, he would have been now for sure. Through it all, there’s a glimpse here and there, a whisper just out of reach, a touch of cloth just beyond sight that reminds him that he’s just dreaming, that there’s something more outside of this realm he is trapped in.

Whenever he does manage to resurface, it’s never for long. A nightmare gets to be too painful, gets to be too much, and he finds a way to tear his way past it and wakes up. His glasses have stayed off of him, not that it really matters since he never finds the strength to open his eyes anyways. Not anymore.

His awareness flickers too long enough though that he can tell if he’s alone or not, even if he hardly ever is actually alone anymore. Aziraphale rarely ever leaves his apartment anymore, and Crowley finds himself imaging what hi place looks like at this point sometimes before he falls back into the nightmares that tear at him.

_He’s still here..._

_Only because you gave him just enough, dangled that carrot just close enough_

_He cares..._

_Does he?_

Aziraphale whispers to him, occasionally, or at least Crowley thinks he’s whispering. Sound has started to lose all meaning to the demon and he wonders how loud everything actually is around him. He has to focus so hard to get even a small idea of what Aziraphale says to him whenever he comes to, not that the angel is aware that Crowley is listening.

“It’s summer again, my dear,” he manages to hear once, shuddering inside at the thought of how much time has passed around him.

_It’s not like I’m choosing this..._

_You aren’t? Then who was the one to lay down?_

_I wasn’t like...._

_Who couldn’t pull themselves back up off of the couch in the first place?_

Crowley wants to scream, wants to tear at something, wants to rant and rave and cry and pull himself away from his own mind, but he never manages it. The nightmares only continue to torment him. Children scream and cry as their parents are killed right in front of them, the stench of disease wafts around him as Crowley runs through dark streets....

Sometimes, when Crowley pulls himself awake long enough to take in what’s going on around him, he realizes that his angel is touching him in some way. Aziraphale still brushes his hair some days, and Crowley finds himself wondering how long it has gotten by now. Once, when he woke up for a brief stint, the angel was wrapped around him, the couch wider than it had ever been. He slipped asleep again, fighting against the darkness that swallowed him as he tried to stay in the moment, tried to memorize the feeling of Aziraphale stretched out behind him on the couch.

_Why does he stay...._

_Why does he keep coming back..._

_I need... Have to get..._

He knows he is failing, knows he is letting his mind win, but he can’t bring himself to care. Can’t bring himself to stop it, and it’s starting to scare him, just how little he cares about himself at this point. He only wants to wake up in order to let the angel know he’s ok, really, and that he can stop worrying so much, but he just can’t do it. There’s nothing left in him that wants to fight, nothing in him that wants to go back to his life. Six thousand years of suffering, and for what?

_Just to be fucked up in the head?_

_Just to be so alone for six thousand more years?_

_What’s the point..._

Aziraphale is always by his side whenever he wakes up anymore, though those periods come fewer and farther in between. Time has lost all meaning to him, has becoming something he no longer has a definition for. He knows it’s moving around him still, knows it’s still passing, mostly thanks to whatever he gathers from Aziraphale, but he doesn’t have the energy to care anymore. What little he does have left is spent towards just trying to hear his angel’s words when he does surface. It becomes harder and harder, the others voice sounding so far away whenever he breaks free of his nightmares, and part of him screams at him to fight harder, but even that voice grows more quiet with each passing day.

There comes a day when he can’t hear the angel at all.

He knows he’s talking though, can feel the vibrations through the couch and through his own body where the angel is pressed against him, but he can no longer make out the words that are being said to him. Can no longer pry his eyes open, can no longer do anything really except exist in the strange in between world he has found himself trapped in.

_I’m so sorry, angel..._

_I wish I could find my way back to you..._

There’s no longer a voice arguing with him. Nothing telling him the opposite of what he’s thinking, of what he wants so desperately to believe, and he realizes at one point that this scares him more than anything. There’s nothing stopping him from just waking up. There’s no inky tendrils pulling him down any longer, nothing holding him back and keeping him pinned in place, and yet Crowley still can’t find his way out.

The only thing keeping him in this state any longer is....._me..._

He pulls himself awake one last time, surfaces just long enough to feel vibrations against him, knows his angel is talking, fights with whatever he has left to just..._stay awake, please, just for a little longer, just stay..._

There’s a pressure against his head, a softness that has all of Crowley’s thoughts stopping in order to just take in what he is feeling. Lips pull away from his temple, from his demon mark, pull away just long enough to move to his cheek, his neck, before they disappear altogether. As Crowley fades away one last time, slipping back into that dream space, he does his best to etch the memory of each and every kiss that was pressed against his skin into his mind. _Oh, angel...._

His nightmares don’t return this time.

Instead, Crowley just floats within himself, no longer plagued by noises, or dreams, or his own thoughts. He’s drifting, moving so far away he doesn’t think he will ever be able to find his way back at this point, and it should terrify him, he knows it should. Whenever he does have a thought cross him, it’s always of his angel. Of golden auras, shimmering blue eyes, blindingly white wings.... He tires to latch on to them, wants so badly to hold them close, but they never stay for long and once they are gone, Crowley finds he can’t rediscover them.

He’s no longer afraid, not really. Whatever is beyond him, whatever awaits him, it can’t be worse than what he’s already gone through. Can’t be worse than Falling, because what’s really worse than having everything that defines you stripped away.

_Losing him...._

The thought leaves him just as quickly as it shows up and Crowley feels himself moving even more away from what he knows. He has nothing left to hold on to, nothing left to anchor himself with, and so he floats. It’s less painful this way, anyways. Less difficult, floating. Doesn’t need a whole lot of effort on his end, not since he’s stopped fighting it anyways....

The memories of his angel all but stop floating past him too, leaving him completely alone in this new realm he has decided is his home. There’s no point in thinking about him anymore, no way to get back to him, _no use being in pain... _He's never liked pain.

Crowley is ready.

Ready to sink into the void. Ready to keep floating for however long he has left, ready to just let go and stop fighting every day of his life. Just as he’s about to do that, just as he starts to lose everything, one last memory floats past.

The press of lips against his skin, so gentle, so caring, so loving...

The memory burns him as he tries to hold on to it. He can feel it etching itself into him, can feel where it leaves a mark against his mind, and he tries to keep it there. Just as everything else has though, it starts to fade, and Crowley finds himself fighting to stop it. He wants this one, this one last memory, to last just a little longer, _please, just give me this, let me have this one for one more moment..._

It continues to slip past him though, but he follows it, keeping some small part attached to him as he is drawn in to the burning sensation. He reaches out for it, using the last of his strength, and manages to finally wrap himself around its glowing light.

As soon as he does, as soon as he holds onto it, he feels himself warming up. Feels himself anchoring to a spot in his void, feels something returning to him....

_Angel...._ Crowley hears around him, his own thought echoing back at him as he folds himself over this memory. He won’t be able to hang on for forever, but for now, he will cherish it as long as he can._ It burns..._ searing into him, consuming him as he continues to hang on to it, unable to will himself to let go as scorches him. _I have to..._just hold on to it, just keep it close..._just a little..._

Crowley slow blinks his eyes open, squinting against the light streaming in through the windows of his room. It takes him some time, but he slowly realizes he isn’t looking at the back of his couch, isn’t even laying on it anymore; he’s been moved to his room he realizes. Awareness slowly coming back to him, his eyes start to trace the figure in front of him even as his mind starts to catalog other aspects of his surroundings.

A soft, gentle breath against his skin

A strong arm wrapped around his chest

A warmth pressing against him

_An angel pouring out love with every heartbeat.... my angel...._

He’s afraid, he realizes after his mind moves on to cataloging other areas. Afraid of what the angel will say or think if he moves or speaks right now. _But oh, how I so badly want to.... I so need to tell you angel...._

“...I-I’m...”

Blue eyes tear themselves open, almost blinding Crowley as they stare at him, so many emotions flickering through them as they latch onto golden ones.

“I-I’m... sssorry....” Crowley whispers out, flinching at the sound of his own voice after not using it for so long. He can see Aziraphale wants to say something, can see the words building behind the angel’s eyes and he pushes, needing to get his words out before he can’t. “I-I...was l-late....for l-lunch...”

Blue eyes swim in front of him and Crowley only has a moment to process that they are getting closer as lips press against him, burning through him as he latches onto the feeling. It anchors him, the burning, even as those soft lips pull away and Crowley stares at blue eyes, needing to soak them in as much as possible. “Welcome back, my love,” is all he hears before that searing heat is back again.

He knows he has a lot to answer for, will have to explain so much to his angel, but for now, he allows himself to just feel. Allows himself to come back to the world, one gentle press of lips and one shimmering glimpse of shinning eyes at a time. For time has come back to him once more, and he knows he has all of the time he will ever need to explain it all to _my angel._

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Let me know what you think or come yell at me on tumblr [@milla-gsd](http://milla-gsd.tumblr.com)
> 
> Update: This now has a Aziraphale POV in the works!


End file.
